


Pieces Of My Heart

by vespertineflora



Series: Pieces [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 06:32:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2338619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vespertineflora/pseuds/vespertineflora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tip from Tony leads Steve to finally finding Bucky, who's not in very good shape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pieces Of My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this post: http://vespertineflora.tumblr.com/post/96270543009/notjamesbarnes-agatharights-hatepig

The text is the last thing Steve could have expected, both because of who sends it, and because of the message.

“If you’re still looking for tall-dark-and-vicious, he was at the Baltimore Inner Harbor as of two minutes ago.”

Tony sends him another text immediately after that, which reads: “When he’s feeling less bloodthirsty, bring him by Stark Tower and I can take a look at his arm.” Steve reads that message, but doesn’t even really process it, his attention now focused completely on the one thing that matters: getting to Bucky. He shoves his phone into his pocket, climbs onto his bike, and takes off.

The drive from D.C. to Baltimore takes the average traveller nearly an hour, especially with traffic, but Steve probably breaks every possible traffic law and gets to the harbor in less than twenty minutes. 

During the ride, Steve’s mind is moving as quickly as his bike. He tries to develop a plan, but there’s no logical way to determine where to start looking. Bucky might still be near the harbor or he could be as far as twenty minutes away by the time Steve gets there, and the longer Steve looks, the longer Bucky has to get away.

Steve's heart is racing; this is the closest he’s been since Bucky’s brief appearance during the fight with Ultron. So far, Bucky’s been an expert at evading him. Minus Bucky deciding to appear, Steve hasn’t seen hide nor hair of him in nearly a yearly. 

He drives through the streets, eyes open and searching near the harbor first. When he has no luck, he starts branching out, riding up and down side streets, looking for anyone that even vaguely looks like Bucky.

He finally finds him about five blocks away from the harbor and nearly overlooks him. 

Bucky is a dark, hunched over figure, curled up into a loose ball at the mouth of an alleyway. His hair is hanging into his face. If Steve hadn’t caught the flash of sunlight reflecting off the exposed part of the metal arm, he’d have overlooked him completely.

Because he whizzed passed the alley, Steve parks the bike nearly a block away, hops off, runs back towards the alley, running like his life depends on it. He turns into the alley and crouches down in front of Bucky, his hands reaching out to touch the arms Bucky has wrapped around his knees, touching because he almost can’t believe his eyes, because he wants something to hold onto if Bucky tries to run.

But Bucky looks ragged at best, in no shape to run. Steve immediately notices the distinct musk of not having showered in too long, sees the grimy way his hair clings together in little chunks as it frames his dirt-smudged face; his face is gaunt, his cheekbones too prominent, a bit of blood dried to a cut on his cheek. The jacket looks too big on him, the flesh on his knuckles is broken, and what Steve can see of the prosthesis, it looks worse for the wear.

If Steve wasn’t so immediately concerned with Bucky’s wellbeing, he might have wondered how Tony knew the arm needed to be looked at.

Bucky looks at him, but his normally-warm blue eyes seem hazy, unfocused, and there are dark circles under his eyes that imply he hasn’t been sleeping well.

“Bucky,” Steve says gently, “it’s me, Steve. Are you okay?”

Bucky’s brow furrows for a moment, as if he’s trying to process the information, and after a moment, recognition finally rolls onto his face, “Steve,” he rasps, his voice thick and dry, “Steve Rogers.”

Steve feels like someone’s got a hand around his heart, squeezing tight--Bucky remembers him. He remembers his name at least, and that’s something. “Yeah, you got it, Buck,” he says, keeping his voice soft, like he’s trying to calm an injured wild animal. “I’m here to help you, okay? I’m gonna help you get better. Can you stand?”

Bucky seems to listen. He shifts and starts trying to push himself to his feet, and Steve reaches out to help him get to his feet and stay steady as he wonders where they should go. He’d take him to a hospital... but he imagines there might be too many people still on high alert for sightings of the Winter Soldier, and he knows there’ll be too much paperwork to fill in, and he still doesn’t know how SHIELD plans to handle Bucky’s return... No, Bucky is weak, clearly needs food and water and needs his wounds cleaned, but he’s not bleeding to death, and no bones seems broken. A hospital is too far a stretch, and too risky, unless he discovers an injury worse than what he can see.

But Steve can’t ride like he did to get here, and can’t expect Bucky to handle the journey back to his apartment quite yet, so that’s simply out of the question.

He helps Bucky down the street, glad that Bucky isn’t fighting him, helps him onto his bike, tells him to hold on tight as he pushes off. 

He rides slow, but their destination is just up the block. He pulls the bike into a parking garage, and lets Bucky lean against him as he leads him into the elevator and down into the hotel lobby.

At the front desk, a woman with a nametag labeled ‘Manager’ is typing something into a computer as they approach. She asks, “Can I help you, sir?” 

Steve is already reaching into his front pocket for his wallet as he says, “Yeah, I was looking to book a room for the night.”

“Of course, sir,” she replies easily, and finishes typing, “Will you be needing one king bed or two quee--” Her voice drops off as soon as she looks at him, her eyes widening with surprise and adoration (Steve recognizes the look before she even speaks), as she realizes who he is, “Mr. America--I mean, Captain....Captain Rogers. It’s... It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

“Thank you,” he replies with a charming smile and a humble nod of his head. It took him a bit of time to grow used to this reaction people often had to his appearance, but it’s something he’s had to learn. He opens up his wallet and slides a card out with his thumb, reaching out to hand it to the woman. “One king bed will be fine.”

But the woman puts her hands up. “Oh, no sir.”

Steve’s brow furrows, confused, until she jumps in and quickly amends, “No, I’m sorry, one king bed is perfect, I just mean that your money is no good here. I couldn’t, in good conscience, let you pay for a room. You... sort of saved the whole world, after all. I wouldn’t be standing here without your service, sir. I’d sooner jump off the top of this building than charge you for a room.”

“Well, I... guess I can’t have that then,” he returns with a smile, shifting how Bucky’s weight is leaned against him. If he weren’t in such a hurry, he might argue--this is far from the first freebie he’s been offered (Steve just can’t seem to pay for a cup of coffee anywhere he goes), but it is probably the most expensive one so far and he feels bad about taking it, but right now his primary concern is getting Bucky fixed up. He adds emphatically, “Thank you very much. I appreciate it.”

She smiles proudly at him, and then quickly begins typing into her computer. “Can we get you anything for your room, Captain Rogers? Your room’s minibar will be completely complimentary, of course, take whatever you need. I can have them send something up from the kitchen for you, if you’d like.”

“I don’t want to be any trouble,” Steve replies with a slight frown, though Bucky can probably use a good meal...

She gets him to agree to some soup and bread and butter and Steve makes a note to find some way to pay this back, if not to her, then to one of the charities he’d taken to donating to.

She slides two nearby cards into a machine that spits them out a few seconds later, and she hands them to Steve. “Alright, your room is on the top floor, 1204, and the order for your room service has been placed. It’s an honor having you in our hotel, Captain Rogers. Enjoy your stay, and feel free to call the front desk if you need anything at all.”

“Thank you, miss,” he replies with another little nod, then heads off towards the elevators for the long ride up.

~ ~ ~

Bucky. He knows the name is his. He’s known it for a while, but sometimes it still doesn’t feel right. He knows James Buchanan Barnes is Steve Rogers’s childhood friend, he knows that he was captured, and that Steve rescued him. He knows that they stuck by each other through the war. He knows that he fell from a train in the mountains and was presumed dead. But he knows this because of the museum exhibit more than he knows it for himself. The memories are hard to grasp, faded, washed out, rare. When memories do come to him, they seem to come from a third person perspective, like they’re not really his own, even if he’s pretty sure they are.

He knows that at some point he was James Buchanan Barnes. If that man still exists buried deep in his subconscious, he supposes he still is him, but there’s so very little he remembers that it’s hard to say he’s the man Steve knows as Bucky anymore.

Bucky remembers feelings more clearly than any specific memories. Every so often he stumbles across something that triggers a detail to flash into his mind; the glimpse of a half-smile, the troubled yelp of a soldier who was just shot, the bright red of a balloon, the warmth of his arm around someone’s shoulders. Such details are accompanied by flashes of emotions, joy, longing, compassion, loss. Somehow, he trusts the emotion to be more authentic than any of the details.

His head is spinning a little as Steve helps him to the elevator. The man’s arm is around him, and Bucky knows he’s resting a lot of weight against him. His head is leaned heavily against Steve’s shoulder, his eyes closed, and he doesn’t bother trying to pick it up.

It’s been a couple days since he ate, and longer since he’s slept, and Steve’s presence against his side is warm and comforting. It’s not something Bucky’s used to.

The elevator dings and Steve leads him off of it, down a hall, using one of the cards to get the door open. Were this another life, a better time, Bucky might have grinned about the lush surroundings, might have teased Steve about getting it for free, about being famous, but as it were, Bucky just opened his eyes enough to register their surroundings as Steve led him to the large bathroom, leaning him up against the bathroom counter.

Bucky misses the warmth against his side, but he doesn’t complain, because he doesn’t really deserve comfort anyway.

“How does a shower sound?” Steve says, speaking to him again, his voice soft and sweet. “You’ve got a few cuts that need a proper washing, and the hot water will feel good, don’t you think?”

Somewhere deep inside, he acknowledges Steve is giving him a choice. He just barely realizes that Steve is making a suggestion, and that ‘no’ is actually something he’s allowed to say. 

Bucky isn’t used to choice. He’s forgotten what it’s like to say ‘no’ without punishment following, so the word leaves a bad taste in his thoughts, an acrid sort of burning that makes him avoid it completely. Even if Steve’s suggestion didn’t sound just wonderful, he wouldn’t have protested.

He gives a little nod to show consent before his hand raises to unzip his jacket. Steve kneels down in front of him to unlace his boots and gently lifts his foot out of each one, tugs off each sock, sets his things aside. The bathroom floor is cold, and strangely pleasant against the soles of his feet.

Steve leaves his side to get to the big, beautiful shower, turning the knobs to adjust the temperature as Bucky attempts to undress himself. He has to do it mostly with his one good arm. The prosthesis hasn’t received any attention in months, and the work he’s been doing has left it damaged; he can’t lift it higher than his shoulder in any direction, and as of the previous week, he can’t close any of the fingers to grip anything properly with it. He manages to edge the jacket off, and somehow gets the tank top off as well, but he gets to the button and zipper on his pants already knowing that one hand isn’t really good enough, since he tried to undress days ago to face this exact same problem.

He’s lucky that Steve comes back over and notices his struggle, offers a hand. Bucky agrees with a soft, “yes,” and Steve helps him unfasten the troublesome garment. Bucky disrobes, used to completing the action without a thought after both his time served in the military (which he vaguely remembers) and whenever Hydra required it for physical examinations.

He moves away from the bathroom counter and towards the shower, immediately reaching for the shower doorway, needing the support. He feels like the room is spinning, and part of him just wants this over with because he doesn’t want to be on his feet anymore--he steps onto the wet floor of the shower and his foot almost immediately slips out from under him. He would have fallen if Steve’s hands hadn’t immediately grabbed him, keeping him upright.

“Woah!” Steve says as he catches him. “Okay, the last thing we need is you slipping and hitting your head... Hold on just one second.”

Steve makes sure Bucky has himself steady before he lets go. He quickly tosses off his leather jacket, unbuttons his shirt, shucks off his pants, leaving just the white tee shirt and his underwear before he moves back to Bucky, bracing his shoulders as he helps him back into the shower, stepping inside with him, sliding the door shut as he helps navigate Bucky under the perfectly hot stream of water.

It takes the relief of the water on his flesh for Bucky to realize how much everything aches. He’s grown used to blocking it out, whether it be pain or hunger or exhaustion. He’s been trained to ignore all of it, so it takes the pure comfort of the hot water to make him realize how tight his muscles are, how exhausted he is. He can’t remember the last hot shower he’s taken--literally can’t. He knows he’s had one before, but can’t remember when he’d even been allowed a comfort as simple as this one.

Somehow, it’s that realization that really breaks through to him. Having Steve rushing to his rescue like this, like he had in that bunker so many years ago, felt so surreal, but this... this isn’t a hallucination. Bucky can feel the hot water on his tired flesh, can feel the gentle strength of Steve’s hands propping him up, and Bucky knows this is real. Steve, his Steve, is really here, really helping him, holding him.

Bucky feels a tremor working its way through him, making his hand shake, tightening up his throat. He turns around in Steve’s gentle grasp and leans into him, giving into his greatest desire. He presses his face into the wet fabric covering the crook of Steve’s neck and squeezes his eyes shut and just tries to breathe.

Steve must feel him shaking, because his arms wrap securely around him, holding him close, and he hushes him ever so softly, whispering to him, “It’s okay, Buck. I’m right here.”

The words nearly break Bucky, damn near snap his heart in two. It’s too much. When was the last time someone even showed him true kindness, instead of just dangling it in front of him, always just out of reach? Bucky’s not sure he remembers; he’s more sure than he doesn’t deserve it. Maybe the man Steve remembers from that war so long ago deserves to be treated like this, but man Bucky’s become... certainly, he doesn’t. He’s caused too much pain, done too much damage, he’s done nothing to be treated like this, he’s done nothing to be welcomed back so easily into Steve’s life.

But for as much as he believes that, he somehow knows it’s not true. Steve knows what Bucky’s done. It’s not a mystery, considering Bucky tried to kill Steve. He knows everything and he still...

There are tears falling from his eyes, joining the droplets of warm water from the shower rolling down his cheeks, and his arms clutch onto Steve like a lifeline. He feels himself shaking harder and Steve just holds him tighter, silent and strong, supporting him as he waits for the tremors to pass.

Safe. The feeling didn’t occur to him at first, but being with Steve like this makes him feel safe. He’d honestly lost track of what safety felt like.

Steve’s face presses softly into his hair, and after a while, his fingers begin to rub soft circles into the tense muscles of his back. “I’m so glad I found you,” Steve tells him. “You don’t know how much it means to me to have you back.”

Bucky doesn’t have the strength to speak back. He can’t seem to make himself tell Steve why he had to go, where he’s been. He just can’t tell him about the work he’s been doing to disarm whatever Hydra traps he knew were planted all over the country. Bucky doesn’t believe he deserves the recognition for any such redeeming acts. He did those things because he had no other choice, not because he wanted or expected praise.

“I missed you so much, Bucky,” Steve says.

All Bucky can manage is a little nod, because it’s so much to hear all at once, and he’s completely overwhelmed... but he owes Steve more than that. He owes him something. He forces himself to speak up, his voice barely audible under the sound of the water hitting the hard shower floor, and he feels a touch of guilt, knowing that at one point in their lives, Steve probably wouldn’t have been able to hear him.

“I don’t remember much,” he admits, needing Steve to know what he’s dealing with, who he’s doing this for. His kindness is being squandered on the incomplete picture of his once-best friend and Bucky can’t stand accepting any more of it unless Steve knows that.

But if Bucky expects a dramatic reaction to the news, he’d be disappointed. There is no gasp of betrayal, no sudden shove, no rejection. Steve continues to hold him. After a moment, he asks sincerely, ‘What do you remember?”

“I...” Bucky starts, not sure where he’s going with it. The details don’t feel real. The colors, numbers, words, names, times, none of the details seem quite right, so he tosses them out, focuses on what matters, on what he knows he remembers for sure. “I remember that... you were everything to me. I remember that loved you.”

Steve’s grip on him tightens and he does nothing but hold him close before he replies in a soft voice that sounds almost as overwhelmed as Bucky feels, “Then that’s all the matters. We can figure out the rest of it together.”

Bucky nearly breaks down again and wonders how Steve can be so kind. He wonders if he’ll ever get used to it. After years of nothing but following orders and punishment, Bucky’s forgotten that the world is made of more than just pain, more than just the next mission.

They hold each other under the hot water until Steve feels Bucky finally relaxing, and then he begins washing him carefully, shampoos his hair, helps to rinse it before making sure the little slice on his cheek, his broken knuckles, and another partially healed knife wound on his chest are all properly washed. Bucky closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing and on the care in every small touch that Steve lavishes on him.

Steve helps him out of the shower, and they both dry off, before Steve wraps Bucky in one of the hotel’s cotton terry cloth robes (which feels like heaven against Bucky’s bare skin) just in time to answer the door for room service. Steve manages to coax Bucky through eating a bowl of chicken and rice soup and a few slices of french bread, then encourages him to lay down for a nap.

Minutes later, Bucky is curled beneath the blankets on the comfortable hotel bed, falling asleep with Steve’s fingers combing through his hair, hoping that he doesn’t wake up to discover this really was all some cruel, vivid dream.

But when he wakes up hours later, it’s to the same fingers in his hair, and the same warm smile on Steve’s lips, and Bucky sighs with gentle relief.


End file.
